To Catch a Falling Star
by Rathien Nikolai
Summary: AU- Faramir goes off on a journey to search for a gift worthy enough for Denethor, as well as to prove his worth as a man to his family. Will he be successful?
1. The Sons of the Steward

Title: To Catch a Falling Star  
  
Author's Note: I *really* tried my VERY best to keep all the characters in canon, so um, effort counts? Yes, anyway! I hope you enjoy! Though I got this idea at 12 at night so I don't know how much of it you'll enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: I have a teddy bear. It's mine. If you're gonna sue me, that's all you're gonna get. Nyah. So I don't own any of the characters that Tolkien owns, because he owns them not me. Savvy?  
  
- - - - - -  
  
Chapter 1 - The Sons of the Steward  
  
"Afraid, dear brother?" the young man taunted Boromir's light footwork as he stepped forward. In one fluid motion, he thrust his silver blade at his opponent, who quickly dodged it.  
  
After avoiding the would-be fatal blow, the steward's eldest son laughed heartily at Faramir's banter, "Nay, Faramir, it is you who should be afraid! I shall make stew out of you and serve you at tonight's banquet."  
  
"Less words, more action!" A twinkle was evident in Faramir's gray intelligent eyes at his brother's jesting. With a flick of his wrist, Faramir parried anti-clockwise, pushing Boromir's blade low to the right. His brother quickly recovered, and began a series of lunges, aiming to disable his young sibling. They lapsed into a deep silence that was broken only by the high-pitched clashes of metal against metal, armored feet squeaking up and down the polished stone floor, and the occasional grunt from one of the duelers as they blocked a blow.  
  
"There, there, there, and there." Boromir steadied the flat of his sword against Faramir's neck, abruptly ending the bout. Though his chest heaved to catch his breath, he flashed a toothy smile as he drew his weapon back. "I win."  
  
Faramir grinned as well, accepting his defeat honorably, and stepped away from the range of Boromir's sword. He wiped away the cool sweat that was beginning to trail lazily down his forehead with a black-gloved hand. "Only because you're older than me. I want a rematch!"  
  
Boromir smiled, feeling brotherly love well up in him towards Faramir, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Tomorrow, young brother, tomorrow. Though I must say, you have improved much."  
  
"Really?" His face lit up hopefully at the praise.  
  
He nodded solemnly as he sheathed his sword and brushed away the rebel strands of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes. "You are as good as Father is at Oliphant-back riding," he said gravely.  
  
"Oh, come off it, you big oaf," Faramir answered in like, slapping Boromir on the arm lightly. The Steward Denethor was well-known throughout Gondor for slipping off even mere ponies - quite a funny sight.  
  
"Oaf?" Boromir's eyes glinted dangerously.  
  
Faramir sheathed his sword as well, and began to un-strap his armor. "Yes, a fat, bumbling, huge, bu-AHH!!" he stopped mid- sentence and yelped as Boromir tackled him to the floor. The mail that he had just shaken out of skidded across the floor with an ear-piercing screech.  
  
"Take it back!" Boromir ordered imperiously, trying to sound deadly serious and hiding the smile in his voice. He grabbed Faramir's arms and twisted them backwards before plopping down comfortably on his brother's back.  
  
"Aw, now look what you did to the floor- it will take the servants weeks to get that scratch o-OW! Brother, lose some weight! By Valor... egh..."  
  
"It's the armor that is the extra pounds," Boromir answered, a grin sneaking onto his face. "Now take it back..."  
  
"But it's the truth- It is against my morals to lie- ow, ow, ow, okay, okay, uncle- uncle- UNCLE!" Faramir yelped as he winced against the pain as Boromir pulled his arms back further.  
  
"Say 'Boromir is the greatest.'"  
  
"Boromir is the greatest, the prize of Gondor, the handsomest Man of all of Middle Earth, the most skilled at Oliphant-back riding, the apple of my eye- please get off!" Faramir ranted on, his voice breathless and high pitched from being squished beneath his brother.  
  
Laughing, Boromir rolled off his young brother. "'The apple of my eye.' You're starting to sound like Grandfather."  
  
"Yes, well, I might as well *be* a grandfather with a broken back and twisted arms," Faramir moaned as he rubbed his back and flopped over. "By Numenor... I don't buy your excuse that that was all the armor..."  
  
"You better believe it, brother-mine."  
  
"Better believe what?" A cold voice sliced through the merry atmosphere, quickly dissolving all humor in the two brothers. "Faramir, what are you doing lying on the floor?" Abruptly, Faramir stood up straight without a word of complaint.  
  
Boromir nodded deeply to the newcomer, putting on a fake smile. "Father." Behind him, Faramir echoed his gestures.  
  
The Steward Denethor gazed fondly at Boromir, but paid more attention to the fallen equipment than at Faramir. "Dueling, I see. That's my boys. Though what I saw right now... that wasn't much of dueling now, was it?"  
  
"No, Father. We just finished, and we were cleaning up," Faramir answered in a quiet voice.  
  
"Hmph! I suppose Boromir won," Denethor's sharp eyes focused on his eldest son.  
  
"Yes I did, Father." Boromir said, "but Faramir almost beat me," he added. "He's quite good. You should see him."  
  
Faramir dared to look up at his father, and clearly saw the surprise and uncertainty that flashed across the man's face, followed by cold indifference. A familiar heavy lump rose in his throat, as he slowly dropped his gaze back down to the black marble patterned floor. He could already foretell what his father would say- he always said it whenever he looked at him with that expression- 'I have no time for Faramir. I have far more important matters to attend to-'  
  
"Boromir, give me your sword. And Faramir..."  
  
Faramir's head snapped up in pure shock. 'He did not dismiss me?' He thought in amazement. He saw that Boromir's eyes were also wide in perplexity as he obeyed Denethor's command. Denethor grabbed the hilt of the sword, paused, then expertly swung it around and pierced the chest of an imaginary enemy in front of him. His form was excellent, Faramir noted. He smirked as he relaxed. "Long has it been since I've touched a weapon- or rode to war," he said almost to himself in a distant, reminiscing voice.  
  
Faramir and Boromir glanced at each other at the last of his words as they tried to stop the corners of their mouths from lifting up. Once, Denethor had tried to ride to war on a horse. His young sons had been in the stable to bid him farewell, but Denethor never made it out of Gondor. The third time he fell off Sago- the horse- he stomped back to the palace, cursing and muttering under his breath.  
  
"Here, boy," Faramir found that Denethor's calculating gray eyes were directed at him, "To me."  
  
"...Pardon?" He blinked at his father, not yet recovered from the sudden turn of events.  
  
Denethor groaned. "A duel. Fight me."  
  
"...Me, my lord?" He looked bewildered.  
  
"How slow can you be, boy?!"  
  
Swallowing all of his other questions for fear of further angering the Steward, he picked up his fallen sword. He was considerably more nervous than he had ever felt when he was about to draw swords with Boromir, one of the guards, or even the Swordsmaster Eunor. Faramir glanced back at his older brother, who gave him an encouraging nod and retreated away from the center of the room, allowing Denethor to come forward.  
  
"And... one- two- three-" Faramir tuned out his father's strict voice, letting it wash over him. His steady eyes never left the blade in front of him- it swished this way and that, it parried and twisted, it danced and cleaved through the air. And he tried to meet it- to stop it- and every resounding strong clang that he heard satisfied him. He was winning- he was pushing the man back to the walls. He could see the desperation beginning to flicker in Denethor's eyes. Faramir lunged at an opening that he saw, but to his demise. Denethor had tricked him. With a short cry, Faramir found himself tumbling to his knees.  
  
"Now you're dead." Denethor placed the sharp tip of his blade in front of Faramir's chin.  
  
"A handy trick," Faramir said, trying to hide his wounded pride. How blind was he to not see that coming? "To trip your opponent when they become overconfident." He could not keep the biting sarcasm from his voice.  
  
"In war, anything goes. Save your notions of honor for courting and flattering young women." Denethor answered shortly. He paused, and then shook his head. "You're terrible." In what seemed to be disgust, he threw the sword aside, turned on his heel, and sauntered out of the room, leaving his flabbergasted children to stare after the gray cloak that swished behind him.  
  
"We're not in war," Faramir gritted his teeth. Angry tears of rage and embarrassment threatened to spring up to his eyes at the Steward's harsh words, but he forced them down. He did not want Boromir, his best friend, to see him in such a weak state.  
  
"Come, Faramir. Don't listen to him. You were fantastic." Boromir said kindly as he dropped to his knees to Faramir's side. "Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," he muttered. It was different being defeated by his father than losing to Boromir. He could spar with his dear brother any day at any given time; but this was the first chance that Denethor gave him to prove himself, and he came horribly short of what was required. "I'm fine," he repeated, more for himself than Boromir.  
  
'When the day comes, Father, you'll see that I'm as good as Boromir. You will see, and you will finally love me,' he thought in determination.  
  
"He really does love you," Boromir said quietly- almost as if he read his younger brother's mind as he helped him up from the floor. Faramir avoided his brother's eyes in response, and pretended to be busy with sheathing his sword properly. His relationship with Denethor was something that he hated to discuss.  
  
"We should leave, if we finished," Faramir stooped down again to pick up his fallen equipment. As he did, he was able to regain his usual composure. 'Don't let him get to you. Control yourself...' his conscience spoke to him, urging him quietly to feel nothing. He paused, and glanced at Boromir; a strange light in his eyes- the only thing that betrayed his inner turmoil. "Practice again tomorrow?"  
  
Boromir compelled himself to give his young brother an easy, assuring smile and a nod, unable to read the odd expression that settled on his sibling's face. "I thought you hated fighting."  
  
Faramir's lips thinned. "I do, but I have begun traveling with the rangers that patrol the borders of Ithilien. I think my lack of skills in swordsmanship will be a burden to those around me."  
  
"Tomorrow, then. Don't expect me to go so easy on you again."  
  
"Hah! As if today's session was just a walk in Osgiliath for you," Faramir said with an easy smile.  
  
"Of course it was. How could it not be? Now... go on. You've got mathematics lessons when the sun is half past mid-day, right?"  
  
"Don't remind me," Faramir groaned, but he walked off quickly anyway. Boromir noticed that his posture was rigid and erect, as if he were blatantly defying Denethor's cold disapproval, though the man was not present. With a heavy sigh, he gathered his own equipment in his arms.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Short chapter, but what do you think so far? Should I continue? Constructive criticism welcomed! ^_~ 


	2. The First Night of Celebration

Disclaimer: Well-you know. *points to the first chapter* same thing. But my teddy bear lost its right eye. *Awww...*  
  
Author's Note[s]: -To Jebb, Patty, Jo, white phoenix erialis, Webster, Mai, and Viresse430! Thanks for reviewing! You guys really made my day!  
  
- I have NO idea how Gondorian traditional clothes look like. All I could find was a screenshot of RoTK where Denethor comes out of his hall to see a whole bunch of guards carrying an unconscious Faramir. And behind Denethor, you could see an official of some kind in weird clothes. So that's where I based the traditional clothes on. - I'm sorry if this chapter isn't very good [believe me, I think this is my worst yet]. But if you read, you can see that Faramir interacts with a, um, a *someone*, and. I'm. Just. Not. Good. At. Writing. That. Kind. Of. Stuff. I freeze up and everything _. - The Atalantea is my idea. I used a Quenyan translator, and it's supposed to mean "Fallen."  
  
Chapter 2 - The First Night of Celebration  
  
The evening banquet was the beginning of seventy five days' worth of celebrations and parties in Gondor. On the last night of celebration, the gatherers were to journey to the Atalantea- a giant obsidian rock that stood in the middle of the Pelennor Fields. It was at this location where the Unveiling was supposed to occur- a rare instant in time when the delicate threads separating all the worlds, realities, and dimensions were at the thinnest- especially at the location where the Atalantea stood. And at this time, those who stood near the rock were able to see a glimpse of the future. The prophecies were different for each individual present, and the moment they closed their eyes, they would be brought into what may be to come. Many flocked to Gondor to witness the spectacular occasion. This event happened only once every thousand years- and even then, the appearance was not guaranteed to occur. However, all the astronomers agreed that the Thousand Year Unveiling will definitely take place in two months, due to all the stars and planets coming to align in their right houses on that day.  
  
The sun flamed into a ball of dark orange and red as it began to descend slowly from the sky, and the white moon and stars began to crawl up to illuminate the now dark night. Faramir laughed nervously at his reflection as he stood in front of a full-length mirror in his chamber, arms and legs outstretched, balanced on top of a wooden stool. An old servant was adjusting Faramir's Gondorian formal clothes- a long navy blue gown that reached up his neck and down to his ankles, the long and baggy sleeves made out of a light blue silk. A plain front lace doublet covered his chest, and a black vest that was as long as the gown went over all the other layers. "Alimena, the banquet hasn't even started and my heart is pounding madly." He spoke, confessing his true feelings.  
  
"My lord, this is your first formal dinner- your anxiety is accountable for. But what can go wrong tonight?" Alimena the servant answered kindly. She loved him as a mother loved her son, for Faramir had always treated her with the utmost respect, despite her low social status. She was kneeling on the floor, adjusting Faramir's outer suit to fit him properly with a pair of small silver scissors and a needle of black thread. Alimena paused, giving the young lord one last look- over before putting her tools in a little woven basket before standing up. "There, Master. I have done all that I can do."  
  
Faramir winced at his mirror image. 'I look like a complete fool,' he thought, but he knew that wasn't the slave's fault. Rather, it was the tasteless Gondorian kings of old with their love for manly gowns. He said, "Thank you Alimena. My clothes look and feel wonderful."  
  
Alimena beamed at his words of approval, and handed him a silver medallion stringed on a very thin chain of mithril, which proclaimed him to be the Steward's son. "Anything to serve my lord."  
  
A loud rap on the door made both servant and master look up. Faramir hopped off the stool and moved toward the doors, pushing them open it without hesitation. Boromir appeared on the other side, already fitted into his traditional clothes, and looking quite disgruntled.  
  
"Brother, at least we have to face the same demise," Boromir muttered as he crossed into Faramir's room. Alimena bowed deeply toward the elder son of the Steward, who acknowledged her with a nod before turning to his kin again.  
  
"You speak so dramatically," Faramir grinned, adjusting the medallion around his neck. "All the others will be wearing the same clothes as we. The people will see no difference."  
  
"Put a sword in my hand and I will gladly fight for Gondor. But dance for Gondor? Nay, that is too much," Boromir sighed. He eyed his brother critically. "At least the colors fit you."  
  
Faramir laughed. "I do not trust your judgment. But come, we mustn't be late," He opened the door again, gesturing his brother to go before him.  
  
"No!" Boromir quickly pushed Faramir. "You walk first."  
  
"You are the oldest. It is your place, brother-dear," Faramir smoothly pulled Boromir to the front of him.  
  
Boromir sighed once more, but shuffled down the stone hallway anyway to the main chamber with Faramir by his side, where those invited were to feast, drink, and make merry.  
  
The young men were greeted with the loud rumble of dialogue that bespoke of a large gathering of mortals, and the distinct sound of many feet that pattered on the carefully waxed floor.  
  
"I've never seen the castle so packed," Faramir whispered hoarsely with amazement in Boromir's ear, voicing his older brother's thoughts as they entered the huge chamber. Faramir quickly scanned the crowds of Men that were slowly being seated at the hundreds of tables that were set inside.  
  
"On the last day- when the Unveiling is supposed to happen- the Elves and the Men of Rohan are also invited," Boromir whispered back. "We shall see the true meaning of 'a packed house' then, eh?"  
  
"And they are all wearing the same things we are. Doesn't that relieve you?" Faramir smirked.  
  
"It does," Boromir answered dryly.  
  
"Boromir and Faramir, the Sons of the Steward!" A crier that stood near the front of the room nearly shrieked to make himself heard over the level of noise, making both brothers jump up. As the crier gestured toward Boromir and Faramir, many looked up to see them, and clapped. Faramir greeted them with a faint smile. He followed Boromir's lead, who bowed respectfully.  
  
"Ah! Here are my sons!" Denethor's audible voice made them both look up. He beckoned them over to the high table, where the Steward's family and the noblemen of Gondor were to sit. "Come! Sit!"  
  
Obediently, the young men sat on either side of their father in their designated places. Faramir tensed up as he tried to inch his chair away from Denethor, feeling awkward in being in such close proximity by the one whose affections he so desperately sought since early childhood. But fortunately, Denethor was too involved with his food to notice. A harpist and a female singer started to strike up a slow, yet beautiful song Elvish tongue in a high balcony that overlooked the room.  
  
"Imrahil, prince of Dol Amroth!" The crier's voice struck up again. Faramir looked up from his silver goblet of wine to see his wise uncle make his way through the crowd to the head table.  
  
"Ah! Brother!" Imrahil exclaimed in his usual sunny voice. "I am glad to see you in good health."  
  
"Likewise," Denethor mumbled as he chewed away on an ear of corn.  
  
"And Boromir, and Faramir as well- both of you turned out to be fine young men," Imrahil continued, undaunted by his brother-in-law's apathetic attitude, as he plopped down in the chair next to Faramir. Though he was older than Denethor, he looked as if he were about thirty, due to the fact that he had elvish blood in him.  
  
"'Turned out to be?' We were fine young men to begin with, unless your memory escapes you," Faramir smiled, unable to escape the cheerful aura that surrounded the prince.  
  
"It seems like just yesterday when I had the toddlers of the Steward on my lap, reading to them the adventures of Isildur King," He sighed, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"You embarrass us in front of our father," Boromir overheard the conversation from the other side of the table and wistfully smiled at Imrahil's reminiscence.  
  
However, Denethor was deep in conversation about Minas Tirith's new library with one of the high-ranking officials of the land.  
  
"Speaking of your father," Imrahil spoke in an undertone to Faramir, who leaned closer to him, "Have you decided what to get him? You will be turning eighteen soon?"  
  
Faramir's face suddenly paled as he bit his lip. "Yes. I had been so caught up in my new duties as a ranger that it slipped my mind."  
  
It was tradition in Gondor for a young man to give his father a gift on his eighteenth birthday- the age where a boy was supposed to have become a man. The gift marked his entrance into adulthood, and his gratitude toward his parents for raising him.  
  
Imrahil shook his head. "Ai. What did Boromir give the Steward on his adulthood ceremony?"  
  
"He regained some of the territory Gondor lost to Mordor," Faramir answered, "Something that I do not believe I can redo."  
  
"Ah, I remember now. Denethor was estatic."  
  
Faramir nodded. "What can I do to equal that?" He asked desperately.  
  
He shrugged. "It is a mystery that you will have to solve- though I don't think that there is any object in Gondor that can top *that*. But for now... let us feast!" Imrahil clapped his favorite nephew on the shoulder. Faramir laughed at his words, trying to set aside his worries before returning to his plate.  
  
Not too long later, the singers and musicians overhead struck up a fast pace song.  
  
"Come, brother, our duties await!" Boromir slapped his sibling on the back and pointed to the crowd that was starting to mill over the floor. The tables were starting to be drawn back to the walls, allowing more space.  
  
"Dancing?" Faramir nearly squeaked, losing the rest of what little appetite he had. "I think I'll sit out this event for fear of breaking a poor maiden's toes."  
  
"Don't think I'll let you off that easily- besides, as the son of the Steward, 'it is your place, brother-dear,'" Boromir threw back Faramir's earlier words at him. With a laugh, he started to drag Faramir backwards, who was hanging on to his chair for dear life.  
  
"There is no escape from Boromir's will- you might as well accept the inevitable!" cried out Imrahil as he and Denethor watched the two brothers' struggle. They laughed gleefully together at the sight.  
  
In the end, Boromir prevailed, as was predicted; as it always did. Faramir found himself bowing courteously to the young maidens of Gondor who fancied a round with him.  
  
"I'm a horrible dancer-" he also found himself warning his soon-to-be victims. They laughed and shook it off, calling him as modest and humble. And surprisingly, Faramir found that he did not break any of the maidens' wee toes, and discovered that he wasn't as bad of a dancer as he thought.  
  
"Looks like you're enjoying yourself!" Boromir grinned widely at his brother's flushed face, who had just thrown up his partner in the air and caught her with strong arms in a rather invigorating dance.  
  
"It looks like I am," Faramir turned back to the Lady Yalewen. She looked at him with bright, adoring eyes. "I apologize if I frightened you," he said kindly as lifted her gloved hand and kissed it respectfully.  
  
"N-not at all," The lady stammered, blushing as she caught her breath. "I rather thought it to be exciting." She curtsied sloppily and excused herself, breaking into a fit of giggles as she ran off.  
  
"Not to mention you've become quite a hit with the ladies," Boromir snickered at his young brother's show.  
  
"Now you're just jesting," Faramir smiled, embarrassed. "But I need to cool off as well, before I overdo it and start waving around my sword."  
  
"That would be a funny sight indeed," Boromir laughed before someone hounded him for his attention. Faramir headed off to one of the many terraces that overlooked the lower levels of Minas Tirith. Just for the occasion, the entrances to the balconies were draped with a translucent cloth that served as a somewhat weak door. It also added to the decorations.  
  
Faramir's fast-paced breaths began to return to normal, but his cheeks were still rosy with youthful radiance. He looked up at the clear night sky with bright eyes. The cold and fresh air pierced his lungs, snapping him out of the dream-like state he was in before. He felt more alert and alive than ever. With a content sigh, he perched over the edge of the porch, his elbows leaning on the smooth granite, looking out into the dark distance that was illuminated by the heavenly bodies.  
  
"It's beautiful," He murmured, eyes fixed on a bright star that seemed to pulsate before his very eyes. He flinched, having not known how dry his throat was until now because of all the excitement. He made a mental note to ask the astronomers what was the name of that star.  
  
A soft rustle from behind made him turn his head. A lovely lady had just entered the balcony where he was, holding two goblets of wine in her white hands.  
  
"Are you enjoying yourself?" She treated him with an smile and handed him one of the goblets. "You must be parched."  
  
"Lady Lianna," He answered in greeting, taking the cup, though he wondered how she knew how thirsty he was. Was she watching him? "Thank you," He gently kissed the back of her outstretched hand, as was expected of a gentleman. He had heard of her- and seen her around the castle, of course, but never personally talked to her. She was his father's favorite mistress- a courtesan of the highest order. She was beautiful, complete with porcelain skin, a mane of golden hair and a curvaceous body. The dress that she wore was low-cut, flaunting her cleavage. It discomforted him and made him look away, for fear of staring.  
  
She walked over to the edge of the balcony, where Faramir stood just a moment ago. "It is a wonderful night, isn't it?"  
  
"It is," he agreed before taking a thankful gulp of his drink.  
  
The Lady Lianna glanced at Faramir again. Instantly, an electrical spark coursed its way down his spine. He instinctively felt that there was something dark and malevolent hidden behind her bright cerulean eyes as she observed him. "Drink," she said.  
  
He forced himself to smile, the strange feeling not leaving him. Instead, it made him suspicious of her. "How did you know I was thirsty?" He made his tone light and jesting.  
  
She laughed- a soft tinkle that echoed through the air. "After the way you have been galloping around the chamber, how could you not be?"  
  
"You have been watching me," he voiced his thoughts. He took another sip of the wine to try to quench his thirst, despite his distrustful words.  
  
"Perhaps. Or maybe you just entered my line of sight," she stepped closer. "The common people of Gondor praise you," she changed the subject, searching his face.  
  
"Do they?" Faramir suddenly wished that she would leave. Strangely, it was beginning to be hard for him to think, nevertheless talk. He felt light- headed and drowsy.  
  
"They say... you are kind. And gentle. Lovable. Humble. Intelligent," A smirk graced her full lips. "And handsome."  
  
"They say the same about my brother," Faramir answered. He leaned against the edge of the terrace again, his knees terribly weak for some reason.  
  
"Boromir is a valiant man, but he and you are very much different."  
  
"Oh..." In reality, he had not listened to a word she had said- his mind was wandering far away. He felt strange- as if he did not have complete reign over his mind and body. He bowed slightly - the motion sending his head spinning, and began to try to walk away. "If you will excuse me, my lady- I must get back-"  
  
"No." she cut him off.  
  
He blinked, confused. "...No?"  
  
"Stay," She put on that charming smile again, "You look pale. The night air will do you some good." She pulled him by the crook of his arm away from the entrance and next to her. Faramir put his hands again on the stone, steadying himself.  
  
"Faramir- tell me I am not beautiful," Lianna moved closer to him, her overpowering perfume filling his senses.  
  
'Oh, by Valor...' he moaned in his mind, for he hated perfume, but found that he could not get away because his legs would not respond to him. And for some reason, it was becoming unbearably hot... "You are," he said heavily, avoiding her eyes. He tried to loosen his suddenly tight vest.  
  
"Then... you wouldn't mind..."  
  
"Mind what?"  
  
She laughed. "Oh, sweet innocent Faramir- never has been corrupted by the cruel world, solitary in his world of chivalry and morality!"  
  
"You act like that is a bad thing," he mused, his words beginning to slur together. Everything felt so peaceful- except for that blasted heat. Did someone blow up the furnace? He took another sip of his wine.  
  
"Oh, no. It makes it all more fun," she leaned over and unexpectedly kissed him full in the mouth, clinging onto the front of his tunic, capturing him, imprisoning him-  
  
She let go after what seemed to be an eternity. Faramir stared at her with wide eyes; breathless and confused. A new, strange desire swept over him- something he hadn't felt before- it was wonderful but controlling, light but dark; and he wasn't sure if he liked it. His cheeks were beginning to burn.  
  
"Come with me," she whispered.  
  
"Where?" She made him feel uncomfortable and exposed under her unblinking gaze.  
  
"One night with me, and I will make you fly." she lightly traced the folds of his sleeves with her forefinger.  
  
"Fly?" Flying sounded interesting. She was going to take him flying? On what? 'Nazgul?' the unexpected thought invaded his mind and made him suppress a shudder.  
  
"Yes, fly. Fly to the very stars," She moved to him again, backing him against the edge of the balcony.  
  
"I- I don't know," Faramir stammered, trying to get the wheels in his head to start turning again. He finally got one fact down. "You are Denethor's mistress, are you not? Not... not mine..." he trailed off, turning red at speaking so bluntly.  
  
"Does that matter when you're in love?" She smiled mockingly, as if she was revealing that she meant the opposite of what she said.  
  
'In love?' he thought. But he could not make sense of her words. He could only see Lianna and that hungry look in her eyes- and for some reason, she was becoming blurry-looking...  
  
"No?" he half asked, hoping that was the right answer. He pulled up his sleeves to let his arms breathe. /Unbearably hot.../  
  
"Exactly. Come, follow me-" her voice closed to a whisper near his ears, "I will show you what love is."  
  
That sounded nice- flying and loving...  
  
"I think..." he began. Her hands found way to him, and wherever they touched his flesh, it tingled. He was so confused- and for some reason, his mind has shut down on him-  
  
"Faramir!" A commanding shout boomed throughout the night.  
  
Faramir winced as the cry rang through his ears, recognizing the newcomer's voice. "You speak so loudly, brother..." his words slurred again.  
  
Boromir's eyes narrowed at his brother's pale face and he sprinted over the short distance and roughly pulled Lianna away from Faramir. "What have you done to him?!"  
  
"My Lord," she looked up at his stormy countenance, feigning a wide-eyed virgin's hurt. "Why do you accuse me?"  
  
"You witch!" he glared at her, his nostrils positively flaring. "I know that- you dare to act as if- you little whore- you-" he spluttered in rage.  
  
Lianna gently tapped the tip of Boromir's nose, throwing off her act of a blameless angel and smirking. "Now, now. Aren't you taking your big-brother role too seriously? He *is* coming of age soon."  
  
Faramir looked from the seductress to his best friend. "You do realize you're talking about me in front of me, eh?" his words came out garbled. He mentally slapped himself. /Why couldn't I talk properly?!/  
  
Boromir's eyes narrowed coldly, pushing her hand away. "If you were not a woman, I would have you sent to the dogs, and laugh with pleasure as they rip your insides out. Then I would burn the remains." He said, ignoring Faramir's words.  
  
She laughed. "Oh, my. My lord, you know how much you enjoyed your time with me."  
  
"You tricked me!" He hissed, glancing over at his young brother. "As you tricked him."  
  
"But you came to my bed over and over again-" her pretty grin stretched wider when she saw how Boromir winced at the memories. She continued, "The Lord Faramir... he will be an interesting experience. As for you... I did no tricking. It was you who came to me like a dog hounds his master."  
  
"If you come near him again, I swear- by Valor, I will have your head," his eyes glinted dangerously, his body rigid with fury.  
  
Lianna backed away, knowing that this was no idle threat. He was angry enough to actually go through with it. "Boromir, calm down. Attend to your brother; without treatment, he will have a blasting headache tomorrow morning."  
  
The words further infuriated him, rather than calm him down. "'A blasting headache!?' What have you done to Faramir?!"  
  
"Nothing! I swear on my honor."  
  
"You *have* no honor. But tell me, my *lady*," he emphasized on the word, "why have you chosen him as your prey? Why not some other man who will be more easily swayed by your flirting and flaunting?"  
  
She batted her eyelashes, unmoved by his words, and entreated him with her smile. "Because I am the hunter, and he is the type of man I want. Besides, the hunt will be... a challenge."  
  
"A challenge. Not the fact that he is part of the ruling family?" He spat out. "I've had enough of you. I will have you banished from Gondor."  
  
"I have too much influence over your father for that to happen. You know that."  
  
"Though you may be beautiful, you are corrupt as decaying flesh. Good evening, Lady Lianna. Come, Faramir." He drew his heated eyes to his brother, who looked frightened from the fiery gaze. Faramir tried to obey the command, but stumbled as he took a step forward. He lost his grip on the goblet, and it fell on the floor with an echoing clank.  
  
"You drugged him," Boromir spoke tightly to Lianna.  
  
"Not really..." she answered, "Just a bit of flavoring..."  
  
"Borry... a duck pooed on your head." Faramir swooned as his eyes focused on the air somewhere above Boromir.  
  
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he took his brother in his arms, and thrust his nearly limp body over one of his broad shoulders.  
  
Lianna looked at the drugged Faramir. Maybe she shouldn't have added too much of the Jasulas herb to his drink, but she knew he would resist if he was in control of himself. But she was successful- she planted the first seeds of doubt and desire in his mind. If only the Lord Boromir had not barged in... Lianna smiled. Nevertheless, the young son of the Steward *will* come back to her. All of the other men did, and the Lord Faramir was probably no different underneath that innocent exterior. And she needed him to want her- it was imperative that he becomes a slave to his lusts and desires... it was all part of the grandeur plan.  
  
- - - - -  
  
A/N: Don't worry! More action and less talk soon! But deal with me for another chapter or so. I've never been drunk or drugged, so I really don't have any personal experiences. But I asked a few friends of mine who had been lucky enough to- to, you know, and those are the effects that they mentioned. *points up toward the story* Sorry if it's incorrect! And I also made up the Jasulas Herb. And I'm. Not. Good. At. That. Kind. Of. Stuff. You know what I'm talking about! *flails arms frantically* Please bear with me. But it's not going to happen again. I swear.  
  
Important A/N: If you know how to make italics appear on a fanfic, please tell me. And- I'm sorry for asking so much of you all- but I think I need a beta reader. Anybody? Please? *puppy eyes*  
  
Wow, I make a lot of A/Ns. 


	3. Deception the Snake

A/N: Aww, thanks for the reviews and the encouragement! But sadly, from now on, the chapters may come a bit more slower, since Regents week is almost at an end. *siiigh* Back to the pits of hell on Monday... _! No! You can't make me go back! *spaz*

Mai; Thankyu! Your review really motivated me to keep on going! Yeah! Down with Lianna! *holds up a pitchfork* Ooo... I'm going against my own OC... Jebb; Heh, I wonder what Denethor would do too... and also, thanks to Emerald Phoenix2 and Jopru! And thanks **ESPECIALLY to Bjam for betaing!**

I found out how to make italics and bolds! W00t! *does the snoopy dance* But it makes all these huge spaces in the document, but eh. You can still read it, right? 

- - - - - - - - 

Chapter Three - Deception the Snake

Dreams constantly plagued him as the night deepened and faded away, giving way for dawn to rise. 

_"Faramir... Faramir... ...Faramir..."_

A voice seemingly filled with anxiety- no louder than a whisper, called his name over and over again. Maybe change this to ¡°Faramir winced, not wanting to answer. This voice persisted in trying to get Faramir¡¯s full attention. Pulling his blankets up he attempted to sleep on in peace and quiet.¡±

"Waaaah?" He finally mumbled groggily in annoyance. It was probably some maid, telling him to get up so that she could make his bed.

_"It will burn... burn... burn away..." _the voice grew faint.

He opened one eye to find that it was completely black around him. Slowly, he started to sit up on his sheets, looking around wildly. The bleak darkness stretched as far as he could see, and found no beacon of light that could at least comfort him. "What?" He croaked, his voice cracky from having just woken up.

Silence greeted him.

"What?" He asked again. The hairs on the back of his neck started to rise, and goosebumps popped up on his arms. He shuddered. He could feel that there was something near him... he reached out his hand, searching blindly for the lamp that stood on a small table next to him. But the table was not there- only empty air. Faramir slowly began to stand up, trying to swallow the sudden fear that began to well up in his throat. There was something in his chambers- he knew it, and it was best to meet it standing... "Who are you?" The sea of darkness seemed to drown away his words. He was wide awake now, his sleepiness forgotten in a moment of desperation and confusion.

_"The city... will burn away..."_

A sudden burst of unearthly white light made Faramir hold his breath. He shut his eyes to protect them against the sudden contrast of luminescence. 

The glare dimmed, and after a few seconds, he could make out white towers that stood proudly on flat, green land next to a wide river. Faramir squinted at the place, and then abruptly gasped in recognition. "Osgiliath!" He whispered hoarsely.

_"Burn it all... in fire and blood..."_

"Why do you show me this?!" he demanded of the voice, mimicking the powerful tone that Denethor used when dealing with officials that angered him. 

_"Burning..."_

White-hot flames licked up, devouring the towers and buildings that once stood so strong. Thick black smoke rose up from what was once Gondor's jewel and last line of defense. Faramir could feel the mind numbing heat that rose from the great fire that hungrily destroyed the city. He wanted to step away from the burning city, but found that he could not move. "Do something! Stop it!" He said to the voice again. It did not answer again. "Who are you?! Show yourself!" 

- - - - - - - 

Faramir opened his eyes, half expecting to see pure darkness in front of him. Instead, his eyes adjusted to soft sunlight that filtered in the room through the window curtains. He looked to his right, and saw the table that he had so desperately grabbed for in his dream._ 'It was a dream?' _he asked himself, confused. _'Yes, it must have been.' _His hands, nevertheless his entire body was slicked with salty sweat, his blanket cast onto the ground in a heap from his relentless tossing and turning during the night. He shifted his body on the bed, but the slight movement made the back of his head started to throb madly. 

"Good morning, my lord," An old voice spoke from his side. He looked up to see Alimena, who gently laid a wet cloth on his forehead. "You were crying out in your sleep."

"How long have you been by my side?" He could not speak any more than a scratchy whisper, his parched throat aching for water.

"But five minutes, Lord Faramir." She patted his arm in a motherly fashion. She had looked after Faramir since he was a child, and was accustomed to him.

"What was I saying?" He murmured drowsily. He rubbed his head, trying to comfort the pain, but to no avail. 

"You were saying 'show yourself', my lord,'" she answered lightly. 

"Ah."

Alimena nodded. "The Lord Boromir told me to tell you to drink this as soon as you wake up. He predicted that you will have a headache." She held up a small glass vial filled with clear fluid. Faramir sat up in his bed and gratefully took it from her hands and unscrewed the stopper before eagerly gulping it down. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 

"How did Boromir know that I was going to have a headache?" Faramir asked of the old servant as she moved toward the window to pull away the curtains.

"I did not think it was my place to ask," she answered, her back turned from him. 

"Ai..." Faramir muttered to himself, leaning back again on his soft pillows. The medicine was beginning to course through his blood, but it would still take about ten minutes for the ache to leave him. 

Alimena walked over and took the cloth away from his forehead. 

"You may go," He dismissed her, needing to be alone. She bowed and then walked out. 

Faramir cursed under his breath after he heard the doors click as they closed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He was still in the clothes that he wore last night, and the sight of his dark blue gown unearthed a flood of memories. He scrubbed at his face with his fists. The balcony... the night... Lianna... the wine... Faramir closed his eyes, feeling heat rise onto his face. "Errgh!" He groaned, lying back down again, his hands covering his now-red cheeks. He only remembered little snitches of his time on the balcony, but the pieces were enough for him to remember what, exactly, was going on- Lianna with her blue eyes and her practiced wiles, and Boromir barging in to save the day. _'Boromir always saves the day,' _Faramir thought bitterly, annoyed that his brother had saw him in the position he was in last night. _And I always need to be rescued like some... like a damsel in distress!_

_'That's because you're little more than a damsel in distress,'_ an evil whisper found its way to his mind. He sighed, trying to put aside the unreasonable hostile feelings that had leapt up inside him. At least the remedy was working; the dull ache that pestered him was beginning to fade away. 

He grudgingly got up and began his morning duties, feeling that it was time for him to get on with the day.

Faramir dragged himself grudgingly out of his room, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the chance of seeing Boromir and Denethor. After last night's events, he did not want to see anyone at all, for fear of embarrassing himself even further. He began to head downstairs, so that he could go to the library; his sanctuary. It was a habit that he had begun since when he was but a mere child. He would drown himself in books and learning whenever he felt depressed. He still continued to do so, finding a comfort in his pursuit of knowledge that he would never find in sparring

His footsteps echoed through the almost empty hallways. Faramir looked up at the clamoring sound of someone's heavy steps, and saw Boromir jogging towards him.

"Good morning, brother," Boromir yawned at the sight of his young kin, scratching his arm as he closed the doors behind him. He slowed his pace to match that of Faramir's. "Are you going to eat breakfast?"

"No, I'm not hungry. I'm going to the library," Faramir answered. 

"So the potion worked?" he asked in a low, conspiring voice after glancing around to see if anyone was nearby.

"Yes- which brings me to ask you- how did you know I would have a headache?"

"Because... Faramir... about last night..." he quieted as a maid passed by, his brow furrowing. "You do remember what happened, don't you?"

"Yes, brother," Faramir answered, an impatient edge to his voice. "I was not so much drunk that I would forget something like that."

"Ah, the Lady Lianna is hard to erase from a man's mind," Boromir said dryly. "We need to talk."

"I hardly need to have 'the birds and the bees' speech again, if that is what you're getting at,¡± he spoke through clenched teeth. He kept his eyes focused on the white floor in front of him, not wanting to look at his brother. Perhaps Boromir will feel the hostility radiating from him and leave him alone.

"No, it's not that. Just... just listen." 

Faramir looked away, trying to act indifferent.

"Well... um... I'm not sure where to start, but..." 

"But?"

Boromir rubbed his chin. "This is hard."

"Suck it in, brother."

The Steward's elder son sighed. "Fine. The Lady Lianna... you have found out already- she isn't, exactly, a woman of morals. And... you are aware of her position?"

"Father's mistress. Yes, I know," Faramir unveiled his annoyance. "I am not a child, brother. Not anymore."

"Yesterday, I found you- and her- and I realized what she was doing- and it's just-" he sighed again before letting it out in one breath. "She is a dangerous woman who seeks to corrupt the minds of men, especially yours, and you should stay away from her."

"I _know_." Though Faramir possessed a slow temper, he was growing increasingly upset at how Boromir was treating him. He was already ticked off from the strange dream, as well as being made a fool out of in front of a lady...

"I know you know, but I also know you don't know the severity of this situation! Listen, Faramir... she... she is shrewd. She'll weave a golden net out of little more than meaningless words to catch you in- I know... because... she caught me once," Boromir looked down on the floor. "I don't want you to go through the same experience," he half-whispered. "She uses you, then discards you, and you end up begging... and... your honor is lost..." he faded off with a shudder, closing his eyes. The situation was far worse than his young brother thought it was, but he could not bring himself to reveal his darkest secrets. Because of Lianna, he had lost a battle against the Orcs at Ithilien. She consumed his mind as he drew up the tactics, and his army was defeated. Though he regrouped and mercilessly attacked the Orcs later on, guilt burned in his mind. He had left his men to face death while he daydreamed about a whore. Many died because of his foolish mistake.

Faramir looked at his crestfallen brother, using all of his willpower to hide the overwhelming shock that he felt at Boromir's words. Boromir had never let out the slightest hint of this dark personality. It was also strange to see such a common weakness that was found in most men in his brother- in his powerful, strong, admirable brother- the man that he had looked up to all of his life. He had always imagined the older son of the Steward to be invincible. "So, there is a side to my best friend that has been hidden from me," he said lightly, trying to cheer him up. 

"It is not a side I am proud of," Boromir looked up, letting Faramir see the anguish in his eyes. A question also burned within them. "But do you not think it strange? She is Father's mistress, but she comes for me, and now you..." 

"A pattern." Faramir's agile mind quickly grasped the idea. "Do you think she is after power?"

Boromir shrugged. "That was my first thought. But she is as unpredictable as a storm." Returning to the subject, he said, "Stay away from the lady. You were not drunk- you were drugged. She drugged you, little brother, in hopes that would help her bend your will to her."

"Drugged..." The pieces slowly came together. _'That was why she was watching me... that was why it was so hot...'_

In light of this new information, Faramir felt closer to Boromir than ever, as two victims of the same person. However, he could not cast aside the earlier thought that he had- that Boromir always had to save his little brother from the evil clutches of Middle Earth. _'No wonder Denethor looks down upon you,' _the nasty voice spoke up again before Faramir wrestled it down.

"You understand now?"

"Brother, where did she come from?" he asked. All he knew was that she appeared one day.

"The streets, I suppose..." he paused. "She was a nobody until she found favor in the Steward Denethor's eyes while he was mingling with the commoners one day. He elevated her status to where she is now." 

"'A nobody?' Boromir, nobody is a nobody," Faramir lightly berated his brother for his poor choice of words. 

"You know what I mean," He dismissed Faramir's disapproval with a wave of his hand. "I suppose she is an orphan. It was a subject that she avoided as much as possible."

"Lord Faramir!" A guard was walking up the hall that the brothers were walking down.

"Good morning, Silas," Faramir nodded.

"The Steward Denethor wants a word with you," The guard bowed respectfully. Faramir exchanged looks with Boromir at the man's message. 

"Very well," he nodded, dismissing the guard. 

"It is probably about the Lady Lianna. I will come with you," Boromir said instantly.

"I can handle it alone," Faramir protested. "Besides, he might want to speak with me about other matters."

"Such as what? No, I know it. I told you she was sly."

"Brother, you are just being paranoid," Faramir raised an eyebrow at the man's sudden strange attitude.

"Every time Father wants to talk to you in private, he ends up picking at what he sees not fit in you."

"And you want to be there to protect me from him?" 

"It is not that-"

"Then what is it?" For what may be the first time, Faramir cut off his brother. "You cannot protect me forever. I am growing up, whether you are aware of the fact or not." He paused, and looked into Boromir's eyes that mirrored hurt at being rejected. "I'm sorry," he said in a more gentle voice.

After what seemed to be an eternity in which the brothers stared each other down, Boromir let out a deep sigh. "No, you are right. I'm acting like Grandmother." He clapped Faramir on the shoulder. "Go alone,¡± he said, but the worried glint in his eyes said the exact opposite of his words.

- - - - - - - 

"Good morning, Father." Faramir was careful to keep his face from showing his true emotions, as he always did when standing in front of Denethor. He let only the barest of smiles grace his lips so that his father would not suspect of how cautious he was being. The hall was empty, except for the father and son. The air also was unusually still.

"Ah, Faramir." Denethor sat comfortably upon a stone throne as if it were rightfully his. He did not greet his son any further.

"You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes."

A silence issued. Denethor's sharp eyes bore into his son, trying to make him sweat and reveal the anxiety hidden in him. But unfortunately, he had taught Faramir too well. His son's shuttered expression did not change. Feeling stripped of a small victory that would've easily been his if the young man standing in front of him was Boromir, he frowned. "Lady Lianna had complained to me about your behavior last night."

Faramir's eyes widened and his rigid stance jerked. "My behavior?" 

Denethor leaned back in his royal chair. "Yes." he said flatly.

"I assure you, I have done nothing discourteous toward Lady Lianna," he answered. The tightness of his voice bespoke of restrained emotions. 

"But you had," Denethor scowled. "The Lady Lianna is beautiful, I admit that. The way you conducted yourself was most inappropriate. I had no idea how corrupt you were until now. You disgrace my house. How dare you?"

"Father, by Valor, I have no idea what you are speaking of-" 

"I will have none of it! Do not try to justify your actions!" Denethor's voice rose swiftly. 

"What actions am I supposed to try to justify?" Faramir's temper was surfacing as well. 

"The fact that you tried to force yourself on the lady, despite her express wishes that she did not want to-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Faramir cut him off, blind with outrage. "She is lying!"

"_Do not cut me off, boy_!" The steward's cheeks were turning pink, his eyes shining with fury. His hands tightened on the hilt of the sword that was clipped onto his belt, his knuckles growing white.

Faramir bit back the harsh words that were about to roll off his tongue. From experience, he knew that there was no use in further angering his father. After a few moments, he regained his composure. "I'm sorry, Father. But I swear, I did not touch her." He could not bring himself to confess that it was her that did all the touching and seducing.

"Why should I believe you? Your uses are few; you are a good-for-nothing."

"Whose word would you believe- your son's, or your mistress's?" Faramir demanded.

"At least I know my mistress will be honest, unlike my son," Denethor said in an icy quiet tone.

This time, Faramir was not quick enough to hide the shock and hurt that he felt. His eyes flickered with his true emotions, and Denethor felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt in his stomach. But he continued to reprimand his son. "For attempting to rape a lady, the punishment is death. I would have banned you from the rest of the festivities, but the Lady Lianna is merciful. She forgives you. Be grateful to her."

"I am accused of a wrong that I never committed. I will not-"

"Boy, you are testing my patience. There is no use arguing. Be gone!" Denethor dismissed Faramir, looking away. Faramir stared at his father for a few seconds, his emotions in turmoil, feeling revulsion and hatred toward the Lady Lianna. He was biting his tongue without knowing it, and now bitter and metallic-tasting blood spilled from the cut that he had made. Faramir bowed jerkily to his father before storming out of the hall. 

Throughout his life, Faramir grew up to believe that Minas Tirith was the stronghold of innocence, beauty, and true love. He thought it to be the beacon of light of Middle-Earth, the shining defenders of the free people against Mordor, the pride of Men, the city of Kings. After all, where else on Middle Earth did the White Trees grow? Fealty with love, valor with honor. But slowly, as he grew up, the vision crumbled. Even so, he held on to his hope that the citadel still retained some of the virtues that he used to believe it had. Yet, now, his dreams had been stripped away- all because of a young woman. Faramir could not repress a shudder. His brother; defiled. His father; lost. _What am I to believe in now? _He looked around the stone halls- the white stone halls. He could walk blind in the castle and still know where he was; the castle was his home. But strangely, he felt confused, alone, and forsaken. 

As if he were in a dream, he stumbled down to the library, longing to find the sense of well-being and comfort that he always felt in the solitude of books. But not today. Faramir sighed, his hand idly reaching out for a book. Without looking at the title, he flipped through the pages, not reading it in particular. But something caught his eye-

Faramir turned back to the page. "A map," he murmured to himself, running his hand down the brittle sheet of yellowing paper. He looked back at the title of the leather-bound book- "The History of Gondor and its Territories." Hardly interesting. But the map... he gazed at the detailed image. The artist took the time to painstakingly name all, or most of the geographical features of the west part of Middle-Earth. With his finger, he traced the course of the Anduin River, the wheels in his head turning.

In front of Faramir was the beginnings of a plan- a way to regain the steward's trust and respect- and perhaps, love. He tore the page out of the book with renewed determination.


	4. Meetings

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers for hanging in there, despite how slow I am at writing. I blame it all on school. I¡¯m sorry! And thanks especially to Yumeko/Evil Sly Queen for her extensive knowledge on horses and horse-back riding, and to my beta-er Bjam!

A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, but I really didn¡¯t want to split it into two. So, yes. If I made it a bit overwhelming, I¡¯m sorry. But onwards!

- - - - - - - - 

Chapter Four - Meetings

It was two days since the night when Faramir met Lianna; two days since his world had become upside-down and torn apart. Before dawn rose from her deep slumber and peeked her eyes over the edge of the horizon, he was already half-jogging down the steep steps of the castle, already clothed in the thick green cloak and the tough, but light, armor of a ranger. 

Though he spent most of the night staring blankly at the dark ceiling that hung over him, and did not sleep well from anxiety and excitement, he was wide-eyed, his heart feeling as if it was leaping up to his throat every time it pulsed from the anticipation. He was finally leaving Minas Tirith- he was about to take the first small step on a road that would lead him not only out of Gondor, but out of the little snug box that was his safety and comfort zone, and the people that tried to keep him locked in there.

He reached the stables and tried to slow his pace to a walk as he passed the small fire that a servant was tending to in front of the doors. Inside, Faramir tried to step lightly on the straw and grass so he wouldn¡¯t disturb the horses' well-earned rest, but they crackled softly under the weight of his boots and armor anyway. He glanced up at the sound of a snort and saw the noble head of his chocolate-brown stallion, Norion, rise from his stall. Faramir smiled at him. 

"Good morning, friend," he whispered as he reached up and stroked the horse¡¯s long black mane. The food and other supplies that Faramir had requested from the servants were packed securely onto Norion's back along with a comfortable saddle. He was ready to go. Norion snorted, stomped impatiently, and nudged at Faramir's head, as if to push him toward the doors. Faramir chuckled softly. "So eager to leave so early? You live up to your name, Norion... 'fire.'"

Faramir often thought that Norion and Boromir were alike in spirit. They were both headstrong and fiery, bold and quick-tempered; leaping to danger without hesitation and often without regret. Perhaps these qualities were why Faramir thought so dearly of his horse- because it reminded him of his own beloved brother. When he had told Boromir this, he laughed heartily and said, "I am no more like the horse than you are to an oliphant!"

Faramir felt a sudden lump rise in his throat at the thought of his brother. He lowered his eyes to the dirty ground, the child-like excitement that had so clearly shined in his eyes dissipating. When he had told Boromir of his plans, his brother did not take them lightly, leaving the last conversation of the siblings as a heated argument.

_Boromir glared stormily at his young brother, his arms crossed across his broad chest, using his full stature to try and overpower his kin's seemingly fatal decision. Faramir clearly saw the struggle on Boromir's face as he tried to maintain a cold facade to hide the shock and anger he felt. But Faramir had always been the expert at covering up his emotions, while his brother laid them out on his sleeves for all to see. He was a soldier more than anything, and a soldier had the luxury of looking his opponent in the eye, not needing to hide anything from anyone. Besides, Faramir could feel the tension in the air; the invisible fury radiating from his brother._

_"If this is because of Lady Lianna..." he began, struggling to keep in control of himself._

_"It has nothing to do with her," Faramir half-lied, his fingers crossed behind his back. He had just told Boromir how Lianna turned the tables on him, and set Denethor against him. He had also told him of his decision to leave Minas Tirith. Lianna was part of the reason why he was leaving. She was the one who poisoned Denethor's mind, the one who made Faramir's weaknesses surface in him. Even now, he shuddered at the memory of the fateful night._

_"And what, exactly, are you looking for?" He asked the question icily. It is strange how Boromir is so much like Father when he is angry, Faramir thought. With the inquiry shot at him, he faltered. _

_"I will figure it out as I travel," he said weakly. "But I will not know if I stay in Gondor."_

_"No! I will not allow it. Have you lost your wits? You barely know how to track down an animal- you've never been in the lands beyond Gondor! I was under the impression that you were the more rational-minded between us."_

_"I have once," Faramir argued, steeling himself for the worst of his brother. "Do you remember? Father took us to Edoras, to meet Theoden King. We journeyed with him to as far as the Field of Celebrant."_

_"That was when I had seen fifteen winters, and you had seen ten!" Boromir's cheeks were starting to turn pink in exasperation and anger. An upset frown creased his handsome face. "Nay, brother. I put my foot down on this. What if you are ambushed?"_

_"Orcs are stupid; they never lay in an ambush." _

_"You aren't ready. You just are not ready."_

_But Faramir was prepared. Firmly, he said, "Whether you will try to stop me or not, I will leave at first light tomorrow morning. Father has consented already, giving me leave with his blessings."_

_Boromir surveyed his brother with despairing eyes. "Why do you seek freedom from me? Why do you insist on doing things your way? Have I wronged you?" _

_Faramir softened. "No... No, I love you, brother, and I will always love you."_

_"Let me go with you. Little brother, I am older than you; I have traveled the lands of Middle Earth," Boromir neatly argued._

_He hesitated. He had always enjoyed Boromir's company- he was bound to be rolling on the floor laughing whenever Boromir was around. And what he said was true- Middle Earth was no place for a lone wanderer. It was more than likely that he would run into some kind of trouble, and if he did, who will he turn to for help in the wilderness? He himself was half-trained in the ways of survival, whereas Boromir... Boromir was accomplished in all aspects of life. A frown flickered across Faramir's forehead. It was the rational thing to do to allow Boromir to come on this trip with him. _

_But he didn't want to. As selfish as it sounded, he wanted the glory. When he refused, Boromir lost what little was left of his self control. "Die in whatever way you choose to; may it be a clean one at the very least!" he screamed, frightening even Faramir. He had seen his brother in dark moods, but this was the worst of it. Boromir's rage seemed to stop him from speaking anymore, and he stormed off, his deliberately heavy footsteps ringing in Faramir's ears. _

Faramir bit his lip at the memory. Those words had stabbed him, cutting him to the very bone, wounding him deeper than any sword could impale. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the heavy guilt that burdened him. He had not meant to hurt Boromir, for he was the person he cared about the most. But Boromir refused to understand that he had to do this alone. 

Another snort from Norion brought Faramir back to the present. He blinked twice to regain his senses before he reached up to tighten Norion's girth. He then took the reins that were hanging loosely from the steed¡¯s girdle and led him outside, where a gust of fresh cold air greeted them, as well as an unexpected figure.

"Brother!" Faramir exclaimed in surprise. Boromir stood before him- sleepy eyed and in his night clothes, yes- but he was there.

"I've come to see you off," he said, looking at Faramir with sad eyes. "I did not mean the words that I had spoken earlier."

A lump in his throat forming, Faramir let go of Norion's reins, and hugged Boromir tightly. He embraced him back, kissing him on the forehead. "You better come back in one piece," Boromir said roughly. "Or else."

"I promise," Faramir grimly smiled in determination. "By Eru, I will return." 

"I was planning on giving you this at yesterday night's banquet, but you did not come," Boromir said, drawing a sheathed dagger from his side. "Here. Its name is Ryngwaew, chaser of winds. It has saved me from death countless times and shed the blood of numerous Orcs, and may it serve you the same way."

"You are too kind," Faramir reverently held Ryngwaew with both hands, looking up at his older brother, his eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears. Only now was he feeling the full impact of what he was doing; of what might happen. He hesitated before saying, "I'm sorry I'm leaving without you."

Boromir nodded, his usually proud posture bent with distress. Faramir couldn't resist hugging his brother one last time before turning to his horse, his bow and quiver of arrows slung loosely over his shoulder, his sword and Ryngwaew strapped to his belt. He swung himself onto Norion, hanging on to the mane and the reins, and landed comfortably in his saddle, his feet set in the stirrups. Automatically, Norion started to move toward the doors, his heels clicking on the stone ground. Faramir looked back sadly at Boromir, who watched his figure become smaller in the distance.

- - - - - - -

Lianna watched the brothers' brief reunion from a window in the shadows of the tower she was in, a strange glimmer in her eye appeared when Faramir got on his horse.

"Alert the scouts," she spoke, tearing her eyes away from the man and his horse that were getting smaller in the distance. She cursed him in her mind. How could he leave like that? She thought that she had him within her grasp, but she had underestimated him. "Tell them that our little rat has decided to go exploring."

- - - - - - - 

Faramir had been riding on for five days, never letting the Anduin River out of his sight, and was far past the boundaries of Gondor and well into Rohan. He has been riding all day and resting at night out in the wilderness if he could not find a nearby town to go to. The people he had run into recognized his clothing, and therefore him as a Gondorian. They asked why he was in the lands, and he told them the truth- that he was looking for a gift for his father- in case some kind man wanted to help him. And by this time, he was tired of his clothes being drenched in the rain and drying in the sun. He was also beginning to doubt that he would find what he was looking for... and his own sanity for leaving the comforts of Minas Tirith.

The stars began to shine through the darkening sky on the evening of the sixth day. Faramir took out the folded map from his breast pocket and began to spread it out.

"By my reckoning, we should be... here," Faramir said to his horse, prodding at a point on the piece of paper. "Near Fangorn Forest. I doubt you want to go in there, though."

Norion snorted and jerked his head away. Faramir smiled. "I thought as much." He surveyed the rocky plains that surrounded him. "Let us make camp there," he gestured to an indent in a particularly huge rock that looked somewhat like a cave. He nudged Norion forward, but the horse refused. Shaking his head, Norion started to head off in the opposite direction. "No! This way!" He chastised him firmly, pulling the reins over to the side. Ignoring his master's command, he whinnied loudly and began to rear up on his hind legs. Faramir was unprepared for this, and found himself tumbling out of the saddle, though by luck he was able to catch himself on his hands and knees. He landed on the rocky ground with a dull thud. In anger and pain, he glared up at the steed, but the fright that was evident Norion's wild eyes made his annoyance subside. He pushed himself up by the scratched palms of his hands, ignoring his aching knees, and grabbed the reins that were hanging over by the horse's twitching ears.

"Be at peace, Norion..." he said soothingly, trying to stroke the thick mane. "At peace..." 

Norion began to quiet down, though he still snorted nervously. It was then, when Faramir felt the hairs behind his neck rising, his shoulders involuntarily stiffening. Though he spoke to his horse softly, he glanced around. An unsettling feeling draped over him, like he was being watched by more than one pair of eyes, but he could not see through the dark veil that was descending over Rohan as the last of the sun's rays disappeared. Faramir tightly grasped the reins with his left hand, but slowly, his right forefinger rested on the cold metal of his sword's hilt. 

A rustle of grass from his right. Faramir's eyes quickly scanned the area, his thumb easing down the hilt, his hand slowly closing over it. Could it have just been the wind?

Another crackle. A whisper. Faramir slowly began to draw his sword from its sheath, careful not to let the metal ring. He could now etch out silhouettes of three disfigured shadows advancing on him. _Orcs._

"Well, well. A horse and a man, all alone," one hissed in common speech, his voice heavily accented, drool sputtering out of his deformed mouth. 

"They stinks of Man," another muttered.

"Not after they've been cooked in Maurarz's pot."

Norion stomped and tossed his head restlessly, unnerved by the presence of the orcs. Faramir was silent, his heart beating rapidly, his hand gripping the hilt tightly as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He was outnumbered; three to one. How could he have been so stupid? How could he not know that they were there? He weighed his options carefully- should he stand and fight, or should he take flight upon Norion? Faramir glanced up at his stallion... he could just swing on and ride off... 

A merciless cackle broke out from behind him. Faramir sharply turned his head, only to find another orc sauntering toward him. Norion neighed, trying to back away from the advancing creatures. 

"Norion! Stay!" Faramir yelled, but the horse took off. The blood was rushing to his head, and he was nearly deafened by the thundering sound of his own heartbeat. He had no chance but to fight now. He drew his sword, his hands shaking, trying to face all of his enemies at once, trying to find an opening that he could slip through. 

"Come on, let's get on with it!" The first orc that spoke leapt forward with a crudely shaped dagger that glinted in the fading light. Instinctively, in one fluid motion, Faramir crouched low to dodge the blow and drew out the rest of his sword and quickly positioned it in front of him, the sharp tip piercing the orc's soft chest armor. When he heard the soft gag of surprise that was quickly stifled by death, even he was shocked by his own actions. The dead orc fell to the ground with a loud thud as Faramir pulled his bloody sword out. He looked at the remaining orcs, whose faces showed a mingle of perplexment and confusion.

"He killed Thrukburg...?" an orc finally asked after a short moment of silence. 

"You killed Thrukburg!¡± 

Faramir barely had time to blink when the rest of the orc drew out their weapons and charged toward him. He stepped to the side to avoid a thrown dagger, swinging his sword wildly to meet the sharp knife of another, quickly stepping from the left to the right, lunging at the orc that called him "bastard." He succeeded in catching the monster offguard and stabbed it in its midsection with an agile thrust. Not a split second later, a sudden sharp pain erupted in his stomach as the plated knuckles of an orc punched him, making him grunt in shock. He stepped back, crouching over, his abdomen throbbing, and succeeded in tripping over a rock. Gasping, he fell to the ground, losing his grip on the sword that was still embedded in the other goblin. The orc that punched him now crouched over, an evil knife in his grubby hands, a triumphant grin smeared on his gnarled face. In panic, Faramir felt at his belt, desperate for another weapon that he still might have-

His hand closed on a shaft. He momentarily froze at the icy touch of brass, then drew it with a high-pitched clang, lashing out fiercely with it. As he did so, his fingers gave way, and the dagger flew at the orc's shoulder, who jerked back with a howl. Faramir turned himself over and began to scamper away on his bloody knees, when a whiz by his ear made him freeze. He looked up through the hair that had fallen over his eyes admist all the commotion, and saw four dark figures on horses approach. _What now? _he thought desperately. 

"Elves!" The fourth orc, who was pulling Faramir's sword out from his friend's body, screeched. "Bladvok! Go!" he began to rush away to the rocky hills. The orc that had been so close to killing Faramir followed his lead, leaping away from the man as fast as he could, despite the dagger that was driven into his shoulder. Faramir stared at his saviors, his mouth half agape. _Elves?_

Indeed, they were. One figure gracefully dismounted from his white horse- no saddle, Faramir noticed- and strided towards him. He struggled to stand up to meet his saviors. The elf pulled back his hood and drew closer, and Faramir could make out the pointy ears, the young but solemn face, and smooth skin that clearly distinguished his race from others. He wore an armor that was of the best workmanship Faramir had ever seen. It looked light and supple, but tough at the same time. A green cloak, that slightly resembled his own, draped the elf's shoulders.

"Thank you," Faramir spoke in the common speech, his voice hoarse and out-of-breath.

"What is your name? What business does a Man have in these lands?" the elf demanded bluntly, his sharp eyes boring into Faramir's. 

"I am Faramir of Gondor," he answered, surprised and taken back at the lack of hospitality and the open hostility. "And I am grateful for your aid."

"Faramir, son of Denethor?" Another elf soundlessly walked up, the thick grass quiet beneath his light steps. "Should you not be at Minas Tirith, celebrating the coming of the Unveiling?"

"I am looking for a gift for my father," Faramir answered, "When I was ambushed by orcs, my horse became frightened and left me."

"We thought you were one of our kind," the second elf said, disappointment clear in his elven features. He sighed. "Ai, an elf was kidnapped by orcs. We are tracking them down. Have you seen anything?"

Faramir shook his head. "Nay, I did not run into any orcs or elves until now."

"He is of no help, Haldir," the first elf mumbled softly, a hint of annoyance in his whisper. He clearly did not want Faramir to hear what he was saying, but he was able to catch his words anyway. "Let us move on. The tracks show they went east."

Haldir nodded before turning to Faramir again. "We must be leaving. Well met, Faramir of Gondor." he and the other elf began to turn away to their horses and the rest of their company. Faramir looked away to where his fallen sword was, stained with dark-red blood, and impaled into the chest of a now-dead orc. He stared at it before grabbing the hilt and pulling it out, a strange feeling dawning over him. Did he lose something? Was he missing something? For a few moments, he stood absolutely still, contemplating what had just happened before the elves came. And it clicked in his mind. Faramir quickly turned to the elves, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open with shock. 

"Wait!" He called out frantically as he regained his wits, waving his arms. The elf Haldir, who had just mounted on to his horse, glanced at him in confusion. 

"Wait!" he yelled again, half-running to where the elves stood "Let me come with you! The orcs- they have taken something of importance from me."

"You will slow us down," an elf said, the impatience clear in his voice. "You do not even have a horse."

"Let me ride with you," Faramir said desperately. The dagger Ryngwaew- the orc still had it! The gift from Boromir was gone- Boromir¡¯s favorite dagger, lost in the thick flesh of an orc. He had promised to bring it back- Faramir cursed himself in his mind. "Please! I will not burden you."

Haldir glanced at his companions, who looked back at him uneasily.

"You are the captain," an elf said to him. Haldir gazed down at Faramir for a moment before reaching a decision. 

"Come, you may sit with me." Haldir held out a hand to Faramir, who took it gratefully. "We go east."


End file.
